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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860836">My Braces Are Breaking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUltimateUndesirable/pseuds/TheUltimateUndesirable'>TheUltimateUndesirable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BDSM, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Car Accidents, Caretaker Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Has PTSD (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Former Military Castiel (Supernatural), Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mechanic Dean Winchester, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Pansexual Castiel (Supernatural), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Rich Castiel (Supernatural), Self-Hating Dean Winchester, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:42:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUltimateUndesirable/pseuds/TheUltimateUndesirable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's has had very few goals and wants in life, none of which have ever involved himself. When forced to focus on it though he finds himself starting to break apart because frankly? Self care fucking sucks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Writers of Destiel Writer's Choice Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Fading Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm using my new destiel bingo card from discord as an excuse to start this plunny I've been sitting on for a while, and I'm super excited about it! It's being posted as I go because I'm a sucker for WIPs -shrug- </p><p>If you don't like that fact or the story (it's a entire AU) there is the option to close out. Don't whine. Although ENCOURAGING &lt;--- comments are always a motivator to write faster. I'm also NOT looking for critics. I'm just having fun y'all. </p><p>I hope some will enjoy the ride :) make sure you READ TAGS, a few might be added later  but I promise a happy ending! 💚</p><p>Bingo square: Eyes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Leaning back on one hand Dean allowed himself to study what was in front of him. The scene was like a postcard with a previously light blue sky fading into a darker midnight one behind the small mountain peak. It sat on the other side of the lake, and wasn’t exactly snow capped. However it appeared to almost be fall if the trees on the large hill closer to him said anything about it. There were more pine trees than deciduous ones though so he wasn’t for sure. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Dean shook his head admiring it regardless, and took a sip of his beer hoping to relax. There was a dull headache that was lingering in the background, but the evening was pleasant. The right amount of chill surrounded him that made his flannel worth the wear, but it wasn’t cool enough he wanted his jacket. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Taking a deep breath he appreciated that the air was sharp in his lungs. Despite the tightness it caused, it was incredibly refreshing. Clean unlike the city, and smelt of water and pine. He couldn’t remember why he had chosen this place, but it was perfect. Large fluffy pink, purple, and white clouds covered most of the sky with an orange highlight. The sunset reflected off the lake, causing the variety of colors to mix together on the water. It was like a painting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   The old wooden dock he was sitting on creaked with the random breeze right as he went to sit up, and dip his feet into the darkening water below him. He was going to need to get that fixed if this was going to be staying here for any extended period of time. Listening to the trees rustle with the wind? Now that was beautiful. Listening to a rattling old dock? Not so much. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    Another gust of wind blew, and Dean looked down at the rippling water, hearing a little splashing against the standing beam on his right. It had been so peaceful. Even the birds hadn’t been all that active. Now a stupid creaking….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Hey</span>
  <em>
    <span>,” a voice said softly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Dean frowned at the small little waves that were developing. It sounded like it was in his head which throbbed a little from the intrusion. While he had a lot of fucking problems hearing voices wasn’t one of them thankfully, or at least it hadn’t been. Who knew what would happen if he told someone that. It would probably earn him a stay in the psych ward. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Hey</span>
  <em>
    <span>,” the voice came again, this time louder, and the dock shook with a disturbingly loud noise of wood close that sounded close to snapping. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    It caused him to sway as water splashed up onto where his jeans were rolled to his knees. The movement made him wince for some reason. He didn’t think this place was prone to earthquakes, otherwise he was certain he would know. Glancing up he studied the mountain. It was still capped with a bit of snow, and wasn’t exactly stiff peaked….it didn’t look like a volcano. That would be his luck though. Maybe the most beautiful place he had been to suddenly exploding, before raining red fire down on him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Hey!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>the voice came again even louder than before, and this time it was far too close to him for comfort. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Considering he was outside and therefore completely exposed Dean turned to look around. There was no way that was in his head. Before he could though it suddenly felt like the world was titled, and he found himself laying flat against the dock. Grabbing his head he groaned from the pain of landing to hard on his back.   </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Come on</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wake up!</span>
  <em>
    <span>” the voice shouted in his ear. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>   Dean flinched at the proximity and firm feeling that was now squeezing his face. Squeezing it as if trying to build pressure so his head would explode. It was preventing him from breathing successfully and he was sure his lungs would follow suit. Pain radiated through his torso in an effort to find air, and his hands flew trying to find whatever was holding him in place. He dragged his hands all around his head trying to find, and pry whatever it was off of him, but nothing was there. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Please wake up! Please! Open your eyes please!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>the voice boomed deeply causing his body to shake, and despite the searing pain in his head he managed to force his eyes open to meet his assailant. Although he didn’t understand an assailant saying please. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   As soon as Dean opened them he regretted following instruction. The sun was way too bright. It was absolutely blinding actually, making him shut his eyes again quickly. Everyone he knew who had ever had a migraine told him this was what brightness felt like during it. They weren’t being dramatic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Moving, hoping to shift out of the sun, something painful shot through his upper body making him hiss and his eyes to fly open due to the intensity of it. Everything was blurry, but whether that was from the sun or the full on pounding headache he didn’t know. Then, despite an ache that was now constant in his ribs, everything started to become a little clearer. Suddenly he missed the darkening sky, and cool air as he also registered it was so damn hot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “There we go,” came the deep voice again sounding much more gentle, fingers tapping below his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Trying to blink away the remaining blur that had begun to fade he finally noticed a strange guy right in his face smiling happily at him. The man was at an odd angle, but so was everything. Vaguely he noticed he was in Baby with his door open, and the stranger was halfway on his lap. It should have been alarming however he couldn’t seem to find it in him to care or worry. Everything was starting to feel a little fuzzy, like he had drunk one too many.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Blinking slowly Dean took in what he could, but the guy was in his way taking up most of his view. All he knew was Baby, and his face. It was a beautiful pairing except for the bleeding cut on the guy’s smooth cheek bone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   That was the only thing smooth about him though. There was a five o’clock shadow covering his sharp squared jaw, and his dark eyebrows although lifted seeming pleased were still a defined line. Then his hair practically blended into the black interior of the roof around it, but it wasn’t nearly as smooth. It was positively wild. Almost like the crazy color of his eyes. Except they were softer, and looked like the contrast between light and dark sky he had just been watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Fuck that was a sight. He wanted to look and keep admiring it more than he had the sky, but his eyelids kept trying to fall. They were growing so heavy especially with the sun surrounding them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “‘ello handsome,” Dean smiled faintly, trying to keep his eyes open, and focused on the guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   When the stranger smiled wider at him he wanted to smile even more also, but he wasn’t sure he was successful. The amusement on the guy’s face was adorable. Eyes crinkling in the corners, and the little chuckle he let loose was a rumble that he could feel deep in his stomach. He liked that sound. It was soothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “What's your name?” the guy asked, bending his head down looking at him somehow deeper, and Dean became aware of circles being rubbed on his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dean,” he hummed in approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The movement felt incredibly good, and with the guy looking at him like that it felt like he was looking into the changing blue of the sky again. Briefly he was confused about that because everything was now fuzzy everywhere, like it was spreading through him. The kind of warm fuzziness that made your eyes drift close after an exhausting day at work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dean? Okay Dean you just….” the guy trailed off sounding fainter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean knew something wasn’t right. Definitely the sun, he had much preferred the sunset. Definitely some stranger up in his face, and in his Baby. He didn’t allow that kind of thing on the best of days. Then there was the sharp pain from earlier that had punched right through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   At least that sensation was gone now, and he was feeling pleasant again for the most part. It was like being rocked to sleep laying on a softer dock by the light rippling of water below him. Maybe if he slept a little that was….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No. No. No. None of that! No,” the guy said loudly again, disturbing his mountain peaked visual that was coming back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean briefly managed to open his eyes a fraction to more blinding light as the guy kept patting him hard on the face, and he really wished he would quit that. It only made his headache worse. All he needed was to shut his eyes for a few after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Stay awake for me Dean,” the guy told him firmly, his blue eyes searching his face frantically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean merely grunted in response not understanding what he was looking for, and attempted to move away from his hold. Apparently he didn't get very far though since his large hands didn’t let go to even readjust. It was like they were permanently stuck there.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Yet somehow he managed to mentally shrug off the possibility without caring. It felt really good now that he didn’t feel like he was being squeezed actually. It was more like he was being held. Strong. Sturdy. Warm. He couldn’t tell if he liked that, or the idea of a pillow more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Breathing deeply Dean ignored the sharpness in his lungs. He had been considering going to sleep, and getting up early to fish. There was no staying at a lake without fishing a few times. Then again he had also briefly considered trying to stargaze despite the clouds. He could stargaze another time it was clearer. The warm pillow seemed like a much better idea now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “They are almost here. I can hear them,” the stranger said distantly. “Open….Dean. You need to....” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean hummed pleasingly over the voice. The low vibrations, and the warmth against his skin managed to wrap around him like a blanket. Yes. This was much better than the stargazing. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. No Fucks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was actually kind of hard, but hopefully it turned out okay because I'm having a lot of fun writing this fic despite the challenge!</p><p>Bingo Square: Dislocated shoulder</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>  Beep. Beep. Beep. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dean exhaled heavily hearing the noise, and decided right then and there that he was going to break his phone. There was practically nothing he would roll out of bed for at the moment. He was just too damn tired.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Beep. Beep. Beep. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Groaning in defeat so he could silence the thing, he tried to open his eyes. They were even heavier than normal, and he tried to recall if he had drank himself under the table last night. It wouldn’t be all that shocking, but it had been a while since he had been on such a bender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   At least there was nothing blinding him though as he finally managed to pry his eyes open. The dim light allowed him to take his time blinking extra slowly while he widened them, trying to adjust from the dark of sleep. Finally the room began to come into focus.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dean?” a familiar voice said from the side, sounding questioning.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Suddenly there was pressure on his hand, and Dean looked down at it while his eyesight cleared, only to find another’s holding it. Following the arm connected to it upwards he knew he should have felt shock, but the emotion didn’t quite process what he was seeing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Sam?” he asked in return, meeting the small smile of his brother. “What are you doing here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Taking in the fact Sam was beside him he frowned in confusion. They lived over a full days drive apart, and term was in session. Then the annoying beeping got his attention again before he could further process that line of questioning. Rolling his head lazily towards the noise he looked all around him, and then things began to register a bit more. This wasn’t his room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What…” he tried to start, but Sam interrupted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hospital Dean,” Sam said flatly, the small smile having faded from his face. “How do you feel? Wait, no. I’ll be right back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean watched his not actually little, little brother exit the room. A second later he was walking back in, a doctor and nurse following behind him. Both looked like a shadow in comparison to Sam’s height, and Dean couldn’t help feeling a giggle. It had been months since he had seen him, but for some reason he seemed taller than normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Nice of you to finally join us,” the smaller dark skinned man greeted him, picking up a clipboard off the front of the door. “My name is Dr.Tolin. How are we feeling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Tired,” Dean admitted instantly observing the young blond haired nurse that started checking the bags dangling beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “As expected,” Dr.Tolin said, as he started taking his vitals. “Is there any pain? Is it hard to breathe?” he asked, further picking the clipboard back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “No,” Dean answered, but another beep made him wince, and he attempted to glare at the machine. “That hurts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Alright,” the doctor said, scribbling something down while the nurse did something to the contraption. Whatever it was it lowered the volume. “Now. Can you tell us anything you remember about the accident?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hmm,”  Dean sighed, pleased with the smaller amount of noise. He didn’t know what the doctor had talked about breathing for. It wasn’t so hard to breathe. “It’s not hard to breathe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Good,” Dr.Tolin said, sounding cheerful. “That would be the oxygen you have on, and the morphine. It helps both shortness of breath and pain.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Dean nodded his head in approval. While he had only been under the medication once before as a teen he knew it always made people feel out of it. It explained the kind of floating feeling. He could get use to this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Sir?” the doctor asked, stirring him from absorbing the sensations. He was looking at him expectantly, and Dean figured he must have asked him a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “What?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Do you know your name?” Dr.Tolin asked, watching him closely.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Dean Winchester,” he answered.easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “What about him?” Dr.Tolin asked, gesturing to Sam with his pen. “Do you know this young man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “Course I do,” Dean replied feeling a bit insulted. “Sammy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “What’s your birthday and parents names?” the man asked further, and Dean wanted to groan at the topics but the sound didn’t reach his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “January 24. Mary and John Winchester,” he answered dully. The doctor looked at Sam who nodded his head in approval at the answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “Very good,” Dr.Tolin said, appearing pleased after the confirmation. “Do you remember anything about why you’re here? About the accident?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Dean narrowed his eyes at the wall hearing the word accident. He remembered driving, and making a turn. Then there was the sound of metal paired with pain. After that though it was beautiful. There was quiet, and colors. Beautiful colors, water, and warmth. That didn’t make sense though, and he furrowed his brows feeling confused again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “I was turning?” he started tentatively. “Left? I think? I don’t... I don’t know where I was going. Then there was….” Dean tried hard to remember something else, but all he could see was the picture that reminded him of a postcard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “It was beautiful there,” he said with contentment, giving up to the memory and finally registering the pillow beneath his head. “I was alone. There was water, and the sky but then it started…” Dean frowned as more came back to him. “...shaking? It was... but…..then there was someone. His eyes were blue and….he was warm. Firm. Batman,” he smiled grew hearing and feeling a deep vibration in his blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “That isn’t good is it?” Sam asked when the doctor’s eyes widened, and they shared a look he didn’t quite understand. “Is the concussion more severe than you thought?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Actually….” the doctor started clearly thinking. “I’m going to say some of that is associated with the morphine. Although I’m sure whatever he imagined was his brain’s way of coping with the trauma. A lot of those details actually line up with Mr.Novak’s story, just interpreted differently due….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “That’s a funny name,” Dean chuckled loudly. “Nooovakkkk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Well what’s his story?” Sam asked curiously, ignoring him. “I couldn’t get him to talk much. He was muttering to himself. Like constantly. Are sure he is even okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to disclose Mr.Novak’s health, but he is fine. Just shaken up is all,” Dr.Tolin informed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Noooo..vak. Nooovakkk,” Dean said, repeating the name on his tongue. It really did sound funny. “Hey. Hey Sammy. No...vak. No vuck,” he laughed lightly again. “It sounds like no fuck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Dean,” Sam chastised him with a roll of his eyes.     </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “It’s a good thing Mr.Novak sat you up before you fell over Mr.Winchester,” the doctor told them both as his laughter slowed. “If you had fallen to the side you would no doubt that puncture would have been much larger resulting in a collapsed lung. As it is though,” Dr.Tolin stopped to flip through and skim his papers before meeting him with a level eye, as if he was trying to make sure he was paying attention to him. “I’m afraid you have three broken ribs, and a small puncture to your left lung. Your left shoulder was dislocated, but we have already set it back into place. You also have what appears to be a mild concussion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean took in the words. All in all it didn’t seem so bad. He wasn’t dead, and wasn’t paralyzed. Apparently he would be able to walk so it all sounded like a win in his books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Sounds good,” he replied simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Uh NOT good Dean,” Sam cut in hotly, looking down right pissed, but Dean didn’t waver at his tone. Instead he turned his attention back to the doctor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I suppose it is better than it could have been,” Dr.Tolin interjected gently at first before taking on a more serious expression. “...but Mr.Winchester these are still quite serious injuries. Your body took on a great impact. Now your ribs should heal on their own over the next couple of months, as well as your shoulder. During that period you should minimize the use of your left arm as much as possible as well as your midsection. No heavy lifting or strenuous activity.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean let out a noise of disappointment. Again he felt like he should feel more, and he knew that wasn’t good but he couldn’t find it in him to think more on the topic. It sounded hard and daunting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “We’re going to keep you another 48 hours,” Dr.Tolin said, scribbling across a piece of paper before handing it to the nurse who he had forgotten was there. “We need to monitor that concussion of yours now that you’re awake just in case any signs of memory loss begin to develop. Most cases tend to solve themselves within a three week time period depending on severity. Also depending on if your breathing improves or not we may send you home with an oxygen tank. Although considering your ease at the moment it seems unlikely you will need one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “See?” Dean smiled widely looking back at his brother. “Sounds good.” The resulting bitch face from him was a sight he didn’t realize how much he had missed.       </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Try to get some rest Mr.Winchester,” Dr.Tolin said looking between them. “A nurse will be back in a few hours to check in. We will move you into a room after that. ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Thank you doctor,” Sam thanked him, shaking his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Yawning Dean closed his eyes as they started feeling heavy again. He didn’t know when talking so little had become so tiresome. Part of him wanted to talk to Sam. Wanted to catch up, and maybe start mending things. However a bigger part of him was enjoying the drugs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Hey,” Sam said, softer than his previous attitude. “...before you go back to sleep Castiel would like to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Who?” he asked dreamily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Mr.Novak? Mr.No fucks? “ Sam offered up for recall. “The guy who hit you? He’s been pacing the lobby since before I got here. I’m going to assume he didn’t leave after he was discharged considering his shirt’s torn with some blood, and I got on the next plane out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Why’s he want to see me?” Dean asked, peaking over at his brother.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Insist on making sure you’re okay, I guess?” Sam shrugged. “He seems worked up. When I manage to get him to talk to me all he does is ramble about health facts, wants progress reports on you, and insists on paying for everything. If he’s serious I’d recommend taking him up on that. The crash messed up Baby’s engine pretty good from what I can tell…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Baby?” Dean said without emotion, trying to pull forward the memories again. Had he been driving his car? Or was it one of the other cars from the shop?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yes Dean,” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was even longer from the last time he had seen him. “Baby. Your car?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I know Baby Sam. Don’t hurt my Baby,” he scowled, making to sit up. Sam never did understand the beauty of cars, and he wouldn’t put it past him to use this as an opportunity to ‘upgrade’ to efficient bullshit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I didn’t!” his brother said, raising his hands in defense. “You two did! I just had it towed to the garage. Geeze don’t worry. Lay back down and relax. Nobody’s going to touch her okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Dean did relax at that, and allowed himself the comfort of leaning his upper body back against the bed. He had finally felt a twinge of pain from the new position, but it hadn’t been unbearable at all. Just an annoyance.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Will you at least hear him out?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “M’kay,” Dean found himself agreeing, as his brother disappeared once again. If some asshole wanted to buy himself free of his guilt that was fine by him. It’s not like he could afford whatever all these bills would be. Somewhere in his mind he registered having to work, but considering he owned the place at least he didn’t have to worry about getting fired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Sure he didn’t know what he was going to do without an income if he didn’t go to work. The shop wasn’t all that popular, but there were still two other salaries he would have to cover unless he wanted to close up completely. He was sure in a month or two his savings would be gone, but the doctor had said only a few months before heavy manual labor hadn’t he? There were the simple small things he could easily do…..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     The door squeaked, and Dean’s head lolled to the right from where he had been staring off lost in half formed thoughts. Sam walked past him back to his previous spot, but then a man appeared in the doorway. All the bright light from the hall cast a glow around him, and Dean could hear the sharp intake of his own breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Dean found himself somewhere between mesmerized and disbelief, not entirely sure which or why as the man came towards him. It was a fascinating sight. Like he was being descended upon. The result of which gave him a shiver that turned into goosebumps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Are you okay?” the man asked, finally reaching him and pulling over a chair from the wall to sit beside the bed. He sounded distant despite the proximity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’m not dead, and I can move my toes,” Dean said, looking up and down his body just to make sure he was real again before going back to the man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The strong jaw set was familiar, along with his cheekbones. He knew this was the guy that hit him, but he didn’t understand the sense of familiarity. One word came to mind. Captivating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He has three broken fractured ribs, a punctured lung, and a mild concussion,” Sam informed the guy, crossing his arms defensively. “They also fixed the dislocated shoulder.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean watched as the man dropped his head. His hair was an absolute mess of black, and he found himself wanting to play with it. For some reason though he couldn’t find the energy to make his arm move towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I’m so sorry,” the man said lowly, and the sound of his voice so close made Dean gasp loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Sam!” Dean whispered in sudden excitement. With all his energy he reached out for his brother with his left hand. Unable to find him he forced himself to look away. “Sammy!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “What Dean?” Sam said, both sounding and looking exasperated but still lowering his long arms allowing him to grab one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Batman,” he whispered to Sam leaning in close, feeling giddy. “It’s Batman! Batman no fucks! Oh my god Batman gives no fucks!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Dean!” Sam said harshly, overtop of his laughter. “It’s Nov..” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “My name is Castiel,” the dark haired guy interrupted, raising a hand as if to tell Sam it was okay. “Castiel Novak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “No fuck is funner,” Dean stated, his laughter dying down to lightly amused. “No fuccckkk.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I’m going to go see if they can turn down that morphine drip,” Sam said while looking up at the ceiling, sounding defeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I will take care of everything,” Castiel said firmly like there was no room for argument as Sam slipped back out of the room. “Don’t worry about anything. Just focus on feeling better. Hospital bills, car…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Don’t touch my Baby,” Dean found himself snapping. He hardly let Sam touch her let alone some stranger. “No one touches Baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Baby?” Castiel repeated hesitantly sitting back  upright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Baby,” he said again. “She’s mine.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “The...car?” Castiel asked, tilting his head slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Mhmm…” Dean nodded, a faint smile moving attempting to tug at his lips imagining the wind from against his skin from driving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The wind had always felt wonderful against him. Blowing through his hair, making his shirt flap, hitting his face. It was a therapeutic feeling. Being outdoors at all was actually, as long as it was quiet. City noises always distrubed the peace and beauty of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay. We can...we can talk about that later,” Castiel said. “What’s your job? I know you are  in no state to work. Especially for the next few weeks with a concussion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean refocused his eyes on Castiel’s face which had apparently become fuzzier at some point. The visual of a calm setting beneath the clouds was so easy to get lost in. He tried to draw away from it, and it allowed him to hone in more clearly on the man’s features. It was an easy task actually. Like the glow that had originally surrounded him he was bright, despite the stitching across his dark eyebrow. It matched his hair, and the five o’clock stubble he sported. All of which framed his eyes that stood out in contrast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Your eyes are blue,” Dean told him, comparing them to the mixed colors of the sky he had just been imagining.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yes, yes they are,” Castiel smiled at him, and the way the corners of them crinkled caused a warmth to bloom in his chest. He knew that smile too.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Smile. His smile. I like it,” Dean said, feeling incredibly loose. The image of that same smile put itself right in front of his eyes. “You’re like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Like?” Castiel prompted for him to continue, sounding confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The sound of one word was adorable. So innocent and genuine that Dean could feel the confusion himself. His comforting, and reassuring face was right there again. Warm hands holding his cheeks causing him to lean into the non existent touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You need to brush your hair,” Dean pointed out as he blinked slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Where his head had fallen to the side seeking the familiar touch he admired the guy. It looked just like him. The black of the Impala’s roof smooth behind him. Picture after picture replaying in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’m afraid it usually doesn’t get much better than this,” Castiel confessed almost sheepishly with a small laugh.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Mmmm,” he managed to hum remembering it. “I like it too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Images finally slid into place with each passing second. Castiel’s face hovering in front of him, his large hands holding his cheeks. The sun was shining bright around them like the hall light had been when he entered. He was just as handsome now as he was in the car except then he had looked so much more intense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You’re handsome,” Dean stated confidently, feeling incredibly heavy everywhere again, but pleased with himself for putting the puzzle together. “Him. So many names.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I think perhaps you should sleep,” Castiel offered softly. “I’m just going to….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean allowed his eyes to drift close as the man continued to talk. A soothing mono tone kind of voice that lulled him to sleep once again like a warm blanket. It was perfect.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Home's A Bitch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Probably should have waited a few more days to post this as to space it out, but I couldn't resist. I'm ready to blow through writing chapter 4 while you read! </p><p>Next chapter maybe Dean actually has productive conversations. Is that possible? Yes? No? Maybe? Probably not?</p><p>Going to use this as my Bingo FREE square because I didn't think before writing lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  Zoning out was surprisingly easy given the situation. It was extra easy actually considering it was Sam droning on and on. What he was yapping about now Dean didn’t know since he wasn’t actually listening, but it had started out as nutritional crap that he could care less about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “....the rest of the week,” Sam stated louder, and Dean felt a freezing cold cup pressing against his bicep to gain his attention. “... but I’m going to need to leave Saturday. Sunday at the absolute latest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean lifted his right arm from his face to see yet another clear glass of whatever mixed abomination his brother was trying to force into him this time. It was some kind of pink mixture. At least pink looked more appetizing than the piss colored concoction he had been forced to consume the day before. That had taken a full day of borderline bitching, and the little shit denying him everything else for him to finally cave to. It didn’t help he wasn’t all that hungry anyways, but what he did manage to crave wasn’t fucking pureed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay. Go on then,” Dean said bitterly, turning to the side and sniffing the drink. Strawberries. Definitely an upgrade from pineapple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Don’t say it like that,” Sam said unphased by his tone taking his seat back over at the small kitchen table he owned. “It’s the beginning of the semester. Literally week three. I can’t miss three more weeks of classes. A week and a half is bad enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Sitting the drink down onto the floor, and laying back flat, Dean ignored him. He didn’t ask for him to come to his rescue. If he was missing classes it was his own fault. Just because he was his emergency contact didn’t mean he had to come, especially when his vitals had been stable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Four days he had spent in the stupid hospital doped up, what he considered pointlessly. He was fine for the most part. As long as he had his pills they sent him home with he could manage another week alone, because. a month of prolonged care for a stupid headache was unnecessary in his opinion. His babysitter brother could leave already, and go back to being Mr.Educated. Ten days of his constant presence, even if he had been out of it half the time, was too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Like I said. Go then,” Dean repeated again for what felt like the fiftieth time since he had been able to come home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Dean,” Sam huffed in annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Sammmm,” he dragged out dramatically. It was too much too soon, and he didn’t have the energy to handle all the complex emotions that came with his physical exhaustion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Quit trying to pick a fight,” Sam said simply. “You have a concussion. You need quiet. To eat, drink, sleep…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “And to stare into the dark abyss?” Dean offered blandly before he finished, and he didn’t have to open his eyes back up to see the bitch face he was surely on the receiving end of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “It’s tv and music. You will survive a week or so without it,” Sam said, all emotion gone from his voice telling Dean that he had started his school crap again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Apparently some girlfriend he had named Jess had been sending him all the notes and work due for their shared core classes or something. He had heard him bitching in the other room about some professor never being online or offering alternative options. Dean groaned at all of it. Sure he wanted Sam to succeed, and be all that he could be but something inside him still hurt about it all. He knew it was illogical, but the feeling didn’t stop. The summer before he left for school all they had done was bicker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean knew it was the suppressed feelings and fears of abandonment. Without a doubt. Their mom being gone since he was toddler, their dad drinking himself to the point of poison only three years prior, and then Bobby? There was no one but Sam left and he might as well be gone too the second he moved states away. Leaving him alone. Maybe it was selfish, hell it was, but he didn’t know how else to cope. Which led to resentment and fighting with what he considered still to be a moody teenager ready to escape. Sam longed independence and distance from what they had known where Dean wanted to cling to what was left. Now that Sam had gotten out on his own, that left him solely with a run down garage and a brother he had hardly talked to in a year.     </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Castiel messaged again,” Sam mentioned nonchalantly as he continued typing away on his laptop. “Are you ever going to pick up your phone, and talk to him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Why would I talk to him?” Dean grumbled. “You’ve been talking to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Because he wants to pay for everything. Because they are your bills, and it’s your health,” Sam said like it was obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “So?” Dean said dismissively. “Doesn’t mean I have to talk to him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “It also means he is sorry,” Sam said with a little more irritation in his voice. “...and you don’t have to be a dick to him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I’m not being a dick. Being a dick requires actually talking to him first,” he countered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Thankfully Sam didn’t respond, although the sound of his keys clacking away got faster and harder signally his annoyance. The feeling was mutual. Castiel had been messaging twice a day, at the exact same time, since he left the hospital. Before that apparently he had even visited once a day, and he and Sam had kept up communication while his drug addled brain worked on functioning properly again.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     Sure he got the dude caring about what happened to him, for the most part anyways. The automatically willing to pay for everything was different, but what he and Sam had finally concluded meant the guy was rich. What he didn’t understand though was the consistent need to know how he was doing still. Most people didn’t care past making sure they were alive, and rich guys definitely didn’t care as long as the legal shit was taken care of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Castiel though had taken some kind of specific interest in him though. Dean didn’t take it as creepy exactly, just odd. While he knew he would have to talk to him sooner or later, he had no desire to start now. Especially with his brother reminding him to do so each time the guy sent a text. It wasn’t at all due to what he could remember mumbling while higher than a kite, or kept dreaming about half the time he fell into a good sleep.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------------------------------------------------</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>    The following two days passed in a similar fashion. There were health lectures from his brother, followed by doctors orders being recited if he so much as looked at something with disinterest or distaste. More smoothies were made than Dean could ever remember coming in contact with before. All of which were now labeled with the words get bitched at or drink me in capital letters after the kiwi kale incident. Then there was the newest annoyance that was the benefits of adding lavender epsom salt to his bath water to help with both mental and physical relaxation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean practically loathed everything every minute that he was awake now. Which sadly was for longer and longer periods as he started feeling better. Granted it wasn’t a lot better. His ribs still ached, and his shoulder throbbed if it moved it. However he was better enough that the screen of his phone didn’t make his brain pulse with pain, and he was able to walk around without feeling dizzy or uneasy. Plus Sam was also no longer waking him up at ungodly hours asking him random ridiculous questions about their lives. Basically over all things were starting to moderately return to normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    That was if normal included a gigantor and his papers sprawled out all over his table and floor, or if it included some quinoa crap stuffed in tupperware sitting in his fridge that he stubbornly refused to eat. That was if normal included not being able to go to work and make his much needed money, or not being able to sulk at home by watching tv with a stiff drink like always. No, honestly it wasn’t back to normal, and he was stuck in this hell for another full day. At least another 24 hours of mind numbing boredom that would eventually lead to him taking an early dose of meds so he could just pass out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Seriously Sammy? It’s been over a week. Can you get me at least one goddamn beer?” Dean complained glaring at the contents of the fridge still.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No,” Sam replied easily, unbothered by his griping as he continued to write on the paper in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean resisted the urge to growl. The little shit seemed to take low key joy in his weakened state. Satisfaction in the fact he couldn’t drive at the moment or turn the place over in search of the damn remote. Hell he seemed to be enjoying that for once his older brother was the one forced to rely upon him, even though it wasn’t remotely close to the truth. It had been nine days already. He was perfectly capable of being independent again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    As soon as Sam was in that Uber tomorrow night Dean had plans to get everything back to how it had been. What he was going to do first though he didn’t know yet. The options were just too great to consider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Of course a little blackmailing to get the remote back before Sam left was in order. He was sure his little brother’s girlfriend would enjoy more than a few stories from his teen years that would horrify him into forking it over quickly. Contentment from that alone might have him planting his ass on the couch right away, and turning on the tv for the first time in what felt like forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Then there was the wonderful idea of tossing every bit of food the guy had bought into the trash while ordering take out. Maybe he would go straight to reorganizing the bathroom where Sam had moved in some of his own preferred bath products. Whatever he was going to do he was going to do it happily, whether his body protested or not. He would live. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Grumbling as he walked back to his room slowly Dean shut the door behind him, wishing he could slam it. However thinking the better of it he reluctantly closed it quietly, and carefully laid himself onto his bed with a relieved sigh enjoying the cool fabric of the sheets against his hot skin. His body was tired from doing so much moving around, and the wrap around his rib cage made him break a sweat with too much activity or clothing. It was worth the perspiration though considering he had a point to prove, and that was that he was just fine on his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     While Sam was here his room had become his permanent location, and sanctuary. By the third day home, even doped up on the couch, he had grown sick of feeling crowded. Waking up with his brother right next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It was an odd feeling to have since the two of them had spent nearly their entire lives up in each other’s spaces. Not out of choice most of the time, but it had never been a big deal really. It was just how they had grown up. Now though it felt like there couldn’t possibly be enough space between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Staring at the ceiling Dean struggled at keeping his emotions at bay. He knew why he had that feeling, and he had no desire to address it. It was simple anyways. While he was used to being alone now, without Sam or anyone, having him back up on him constantly was down right annoying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Determined to drown out his thoughts Dean rolled over to his side, a task that was still a real bitch to achieve, and reached for his painkillers. Holding in the pained groaned he grabbed his glass of water, and swallowed the small handful of pills before picking up his phone. The most exciting thing he was capable of doing at the moment, and his only distraction as long as the brightness was turned down. Perhaps a scroll through all the basic media would be sufficient to pass a few minutes. Maybe half an hour if he got lucky with some dramatic news articles or found a good online argument to watch unfold in the comments. However upon turning it on he was met with a new text message waiting for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It didn’t take a genius to know who it was. He didn’t have friends anymore, his workers weren’t working, and Sam was literally in the living room. Customers, if he got any, called during the day. They didn’t text him. Still despite himself Dean opened the message, knowing full and well what it would provoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Castiel Novak</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope you are feeling better tonight Dean. Your brother told me you have been moving around well. I look forward to hearing it from you soon so we can discuss everything. Sleep well. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Dean read the text message again, and then again before scrolling back up and reading all the others like he did every time he got a new one. There weren’t but one from the first two days he had been home, probably because the man knew he would be asleep almost constantly. Therefore he had solely corresponded with Sam until his brother began telling him how he was getting better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The texts were harmless, and as far as he knew everything Sam discussed with him over the phone was also. Although oftentimes he disappeared onto the balcony to talk. All Castiel’s messages were formal, polite, and to the point. He wanted to hate his brother for adding the guy into his contact list, but he couldn’t find it in him because something deep inside stirred around trying to make itself known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   With all his mental power Dean pushed everything inside him down, forgoing his original idea to scroll mindlessly through TMZ and Facebook. Instead he shut off his phone completely. He didn’t need people to care about him. Whether it be sympathy, pity, or so claimed obligation he didn’t want it, and he definitely didn’t want some stranger pretending to care when he could hardly handle his own brother acting the complete opposite. Even if he knew deep down Sam cared it didn’t matter. All he wanted was to be alone again. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Goodbye?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I debated cutting this chapter off where I did, but I imagine the scene after this being incredibly long and it just felt like the right place. Sorry if you don't like short chapters. Not really though....</p><p>Bingo Square: Delayed Flight</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   Dean ground his teeth together to restrain his emotions. The light throb the grinding produced was worth it though. It was better than the alternative that had him itching to breakdown one way or the other. Which way it would fall he didn’t know, and neither one he wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The thick steam from his lengthy bath was helping. For the most part his head really was feeling better, and he could handle the light pretty much like normal now. His complete upper body ached still, but he suffered through it with his medication. Sometimes when he was annoyed though he didn’t even bother with the pills, mostly out of pure stubbornness. Then there were other times he had to make sure not to take as many as he actually wanted, wishing he could just fight it all off and be finished with the whole ordeal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It was all just down right shitty luck. Something that seemed impossible to defend himself against despite not actually trying anymore. This fact was repeated over and over to him like a mantra. Hell it was even proved once again earlier that morning when Sam got the notification from the airport letting him know his flight had been delayed a full eight hours. That had been a disappointment for both of them, although neither of them actually voiced it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Sam wanted to leave, and more importantly he needed to leave so he could resume classes tomorrow. Dean wanted that also, but his insides were torn. He wanted to both kick him out the damn door while also not letting him leave the state. It was all like the urge to rip off a band aid. Indecisive until finally a split second decision resulted in a light stinging feeling that hardly lasted before fading away into the past. Then they would go back to moving on with life day by day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   To him everyday felt like the previous one. Eventually they were just the same old motions put back into place with little tweaks. Whatever was needed to make the day run smoothly again, and accept whatever change had occurred. There was the period of adjustment when their dad disappeared for over over a year when he was a teenager. When he was found dead in Michigan outside his wrecked truck in a pile of his own vomit it hadn’t actually changed much. Sam running off to college the second he graduated high school though, leaving him in the dust, had unhinged things more than he cared to admit. Then there was Bobby dying shortly after…...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean forced himself out of the tub, albeit slowly, and pointedly ignored those memories along with the nagging curiosity of what negatives he was going to be encountering soon. There were a few issues that he already knew about in great detail, and at least those he knew how to fix. Examples really only being the crushed up hunk of metal that was Baby, and his damaged body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Once toweled off Dean quietly slipped back into his bed again, leaving Sam moving about in the kitchen. He didn’t want to attempt hanging out or awkward small talk. Instead he lay on his covers letting the time pass by in silence. Just like Sam and his dumb doctors wanted. At some point his mind even went blissfully blank, and he only became aware of it when the light knock and opening creak of his door disturbed his peace.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Dean?” Sam whispered, apparently not able to tell if he was awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yea?” he answered simply looking to the door as it opened wider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “My ride's here,” Sam told him, and Dean winced sitting up at his words. “I’m going to the airport early to make sure there aren’t any complications from the delay,” his brother continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    For a minute Dean just stared at him blankly. Tall, lanky, long hair and a face that was the only thing he knew to associate with home. This was it again. Gone for who knew how long with no idea who would finally get their head out of their ass and talk about things. Emotions. Feelings.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Sounds good,” Dean finally replied, and he could hear the dullness in his own voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “The fridge is stocked for a few more days,” Sam said, walking over. “I made plenty of food. I don’t care if you don’t know what they are. Eat them.” His brother's eyes were scolding and firm. “I know you are going to watch tv as soon as I’m out of the parking lot, but at least keep the volume down. I’ve scooted the couch back a little further. You need to take it easy for at least two more weeks. Take an Uber to the doctor until he gives you the clear for driving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean huffed at the instructions. If he took an Uber it was going to be to go get one of the shop cars that worked well enough. He wasn’t going to rely on some strangers to drive him around the city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I checked, and if you do need anything from the store there is a service that delivers here,” Sam informed him. “I will call and…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yea yea got it,” Dean said shooing him with his hands not wanting to listen to it anymore. “Now go. I have a long overdue pizza to order, and shows to catch up on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I’m serious Dean,” Sam frowned. “You’re going to stress your body out more which will cause healing to take longer. Don’t even think of going to the shop or working on the car. You can make up business later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean stood up, pressing his lips together like he had to prove a point. He was a grown ass man and could handle whatever he had to deal with physically. Sure he might be willing to give his body a bit more time before trying to hammer Baby back into shape, but that was because twisting his torso still hurt like a bitch. Going to the shop though in general was a requirement. It came with being the boss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Goodbye Dean,” Sam said surprisingly softly, apparently oblivious to Dean’s annoyance at being told what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Stepping forward the giant wrapped his long arms around him in a gentle hug, leaning into him probably more than he meant to. It was a comforting thing his brother had taken on since….well since he knew how to hug. Like pressing their cheeks together proved he was still actually there.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Love you Sammy,” Dean whispered, unable to stop from bringing his arms up just enough to return the gesture he hadn’t experienced in years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “Love you jerk,” Sam said with a small hesitant smile, sounding almost sad as he pulled away. “I’ll call later. Take your meds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Then just like that the comforting moment was broken, and Dean rolled his eyes. It only allowed him to hear how Sam laughed as he left the room. He couldn’t help that he absolutely hated his younger brother trying to take care of him, having grown up with it ingrained in him to be the other way around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   For a minute Dean just stood there waiting and listening for the sound of the front door shutting, signalling Sam’s exit. As soon as he heard it along with the faint click of it locking he squeezed his eyes shut, and let himself fall back onto the bed. Completely uncaring to the pain that radiated through his ribs because of it. At least the physical pain would mean the tears were the result of it instead of the mental struggle he always seemed to face. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>----------------------------------------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>  Two hours. Two hours of peace was all he got before the phone rang in front of his face. The place it had fallen when he’d given up boringly scrolling social media again. All he wanted to do was lay around in bed, and mope a little bit longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Sam was probably just now getting ready to board his flying tin can. He hadn’t even made it out of the state, and was apparently going to continue his nagging routine. It was one of the things Dean had been looking forward to ending once he was gone. This time it was probably going to be about his meds considering it was about time for him to take the next dose. Then again it could be about eating one of his abominations for dinner. With defeated, but lingering, irritation he swiped the screen to answer his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I haven’t even turned the damn thing on, I haven’t taken them yet, and no I’m not moving,” Dean said flatly into the receiver hoping to end the call before it really began. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Oh uh....hello Dean,” a deep voice greeted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Dean’s eyes popped open hearing that voice, and he hoped how quickly he sucked in fresh air wasn’t noticeable over the phone. There would never be any forgetting that voice. As much as he had tried to forget, and avoid it, it was proving impossible. The sound was forever going to be felt in his bones. It had been in his nearly every dream since the accident along with the images, taunting him in the best ways possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Castiel continued despite his lack of response. “I was trying to get a hold of Sam, but it appears his phone is shut off. Are you okay? Is he okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He left,” Dean scoffed at the mention of his brother, which provided him the second he needed to shake himself from his daze of memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “He left?” Castiel repeated back in a much harder tone. “What do you mean he left?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I mean he went back to California,” he explained, nuzzling his face back against the pillow since it wasn’t Sam. “He’s in college and classes started a few weeks ago. He can’t miss anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “California?” Castiel said loudly, sounding somewhere between distressed and angry. “He left? How could he leave? It’s not even been two weeks! How are you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Head man. Head,” Dean groaned, moving the phone to in-between the pillow and his head so he could rub his assaulted temple. Apparently his concussion still wasn’t completely gone. “Quit freaking out I’m fine. Fuck.”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “No you ne…” Castiel started just as loud before seeming to catch himself, and his voice trailed off into muttered grumbling he couldn’t understand. “I apologize,” the man said after a few seconds. “Is someone else coming to stay with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “No,” Dean answered simply. Who the hell else was there in his life to help him? Did the guy not recall anyone else coming to the hospital?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “No one else?” Castiel asked further with a more neutral voice, as if he was working to keep the topic formal. “Is someone coming to check in on you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “I’m fine,” Dean grumbled. He had just got rid of one controlling babysitter, he didn’t need another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “Friends?” Castiel tried again a bit weaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “No,” he said, evenly trying not to get annoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “Co-workers?” the guy inquired almost pitifully, his tone taking on a bit of a higher pitch that sounded like distress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Look seriously,” Dean replied, feeling something a bit warm in his chest. His concern sounded like so much more than Sam’s controlling brush off. It caused a small tug at the corner of his lips “I’m fine Cas. Really,” he tried reassuring him. “I don’t need his help or anyone else's. I do just fine on my own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Normal circumstances I would understand that. I would,” Castiel said quickly, almost apologetically. “These aren’t normal circumstances though Dean. They aren’t. You shouldn’t be doing anything. Working, driving, or...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Says the guy that hit me,” Dean interrupted almost playfully, and the guy's heavy exhale of irritation or annoyance made him smile wider. Maybe it was just frustration, but regardless it was amusing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Again there was muttering and grumbling on the other end of the line that wasn’t distinguishable. Castiel clearly wanted to argue, but was restraining himself. Then there was a steady rhythm of exhales that started causing Dean to raise his eyebrows out of curiosity. His smile fell hearing the noise. What in the fuck was the guy doing? Exercising? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Uh...Cas?” he said, unsure if he should hang up or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yes….yes…” the man replied, definitely out of breath. “Please just...Do you need anything? At all? Do you want me to bring you something? Are you out of anything? I can get you whatever you need. ”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Unless you are bringing me a big ass burger from that diner just off the riverfront I’m good,” Dean laughed softly, again smiling at his pitiful and desperate attempt to help. Briefly he wondered if the guy was a nurse.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Text me what you want and your address. I will bring it right over,” Castiel said without hesitating</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Dude I was joking, man,” Dean said, attempting to shake his head before remembering he was laying down. Maybe the guy didn’t understand jokes? “You don’t really….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Text me what you want and your address,” Castiel repeated over him firmly before hanging up, literally leaving no time for an argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Dean furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the phone away from him, looking at the screen to show the call had indeed ended before it turned black. Part of him wondered if he should be worried. That was weird as fuck, and he didn’t know the dude. Sammy had been talking to him regularly enough though, so he supposed it would be fine. Besides, who was he to turn down a good burger after practically two weeks of starving.   </span>
</p>
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